


Achievement Platoon

by urbaninja



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, somewhat canon compliant, very silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1612520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urbaninja/pseuds/urbaninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Grif is leading a platoon on Chorus. Using some unorthodox training methods that might be a little familiar to some.</p><p>Inspired by Achievement Hunter Let's Plays and Things to do In.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series of fics was inspired by the (now jossed) headcanon that the Achievement Hunter boys should voice Grif's platoon in RvB Season 12. Because, you know, their leaders share something in common.
> 
> Written prior to the start of season 12 and does involve elements of it and various Lets Plays and Things to do In.
> 
> All fics were originally posted on tumblr.

"Grif, what the hell is this?"

"This? It’s a training obstacle course. State of the art. I built it myself."

It was built into some of the cliffs with rope ladders, plank bridges, and some places where all you could do was jump across. There were boxes scattered through out, which Grif explained held weapons, health, and little trophies. The objective? Get all the trophies and be the last man standing.

"You built this?" Simmons wasn’t sure if he should be confused or impressed.

"Yeah. Well, Caboose helped…surprisingly. He’s good at placing the boxes."

"Wow, Grif, that’s actually pretty cool. Maybe your squad will actually learn something from this…"

"Right!" came a shout, "Here’s what I’m gonna do…AUGH!!!"

"I take it back," Simmons sighed as Grif leaned onto his shoulder, laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, you’re saying that’s the tallest place around here?" Grif asked one of his platoon as they stood at the bottom of a mountain.

"Yeah. There’s a watchtower hidden at the top," the soldier replied. "So what are we doing, sir?"

Grif paused, as if in thought before climbing into a warthog. “It’s a race to the top. First one there or last man standing wins! Fists are allowed but no other weapons! Go!”

He sped off in the Warthog, laughing as he watched his squad stumble over each other on their way up the mountain.

***

"Good work, team," Grif replied, as the last of them pulled themselves to the top of the mountain, out of breath and looking a little worse for the wear. Things had gotten a little rough towards the middle. "You showed some real hustle out there."

"Whatever. You drove up here! What do you know?"

"Hey, who’s in charge here, me or you. Anyways, come over here and look out at the view. This is the piece of shit planet you guys are protecting or whatever, so be proud of it."

It was a nice view, and none of the soldiers really noticed as Grif casually wandered back to the warthog and got it. He crept forward slowly until he was nudging his platoon off the hill.

"First one down to the bottom wins! Go!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright, and one more thing," Grif said, after most of the introductions had concluded. "What the hell is that thing?"

He pointed to add odd statue erected in front of his platoon’s barracks. From what he could tell, it four cubed pieces of petrified wood, spray painted gold, on top of an old black crate.

"It’s a tower of pimps."

"A what?"

"A tower of pimps. It’s kind of like our team flag, you know? Except it’s a dumb statue made out of wood."

Grif nodded, somewhat understanding. After all, there had been a team flag in his life not too long ago. Vaguely he wondered what had happened to that stupid flag.

"It’s ugly as dicks," Grif replied finally, to approving nods. "You guys are dismissed."

***

"Wait. What do you want me to do?" Simmons asked. Night had fallen, and by all rights, Simmons figured he should be asleep. Meeting his platoon had been exhausting, and Simmons wanted to make sure he had a good night’s rest so that they could probably begin training tomorrow.

"Keep it down," Grif replied, half-whispering. "I don’t want to wake the guys. And I want you to help me move this thing, hide it somewhere."

"Why? And what the hell is it?"

"It’s a Tower of Pimps."

Simmons gave Grif a long look. “Look, Simmons. It’s for training.”

There was another look as Simmons tried, desperately, to once again understand his friend’s logic, or lack thereof.

"Fine, I’ll owe you one, alright?"

"I’ll add it to your tab," Simmons sighed, grabbing the first piece of wood and nearly falling over with the weight. Grif tried not to laugh and was met with a glare. It was honestly surprisingly how expressive their helmets could be. "Make that double."

"Fine."

***

The next morning seemed to start normally, as the members of Grif’s platoon stumbled out of the barracks towards the mess hall.

"Hey, uh, guys? Where’s the tower?"

"Did someone steal our tower?"

Confusion abounded until Grif stepped out of his quarters, looking rather pleased with himself.

"I stole your stupid tower. And I’ve hidden it somewhere. Training begins now, bitches."

"What are we training exactly?"

"Uh…Reconnaissance, and uh, team-building or some shit, I don’t know. Just go find the fucking tower. And the first guy back gets bacon for breakfast."

As his platoon scattered off, Grif leisurely strolled to the watchtower. This was going to be fun.


	4. Chapter 4

"You want me to help you move it again?" Simmons squawked.

The day had been one of sheer brilliance in Grif’s opinion, with his squad scattered around the Rebel’s base, desperately searching for their stolen tower. And all Grif had had to do was sit back and relax.

Much to Simmons’s chagrin.

"Yeah. I got another idea. Please Simmons, it’ll be hilarious!"

"No it won’t! Grif, we’re supposed to be helping them win a war here. You’re making them do stupid shit for your amusement."

"You think Sarge didn’t do that to us? I’m just using what I learned. Now c’mon, we don’t have much time. I’ll owe you another favor, that’s two. And you can come watch if you want."

"Fine. But they better be big favours."

***

"Uh…guys? Tower’s gone again."

"The fuck? We just got that thing back."

"Yeah, well, it didn’t last."

One of the squad members wandered over to the crate, which had a note with near indecipherable handwriting on it. After a moment’s confusion, turning his head, and squinting, he read:

"Tower’s gone again. Come find me, bitches. First person who does gets bacon for breakfast again."

"Man, what the hell is up with these training exercises?"

"I don’t know, but you gotta admit, it’s more fun than running laps and running drills."


	5. Chapter 5

Simmons was having a hard time believing the change that had come over Grif. Since being put in charge of his own platoon Grif had changed from the lazy, snarky, fatass Simmons had known for most of his life, into a somewhat motivated, halfway competent, fatass. He hadn’t even been like this back when he’d been promoted to sergeant.

It was weird, to say the least.

"I dunno," Grif replied when Simmons finally asked him about it. "It’s just fun to mess with them. I mean, I can make them run laps, I can make them jump through all the hoops I want and it’s hilarious. And making it a game’s even better because they get crazy competitive. The only work I have to do is think of an idea, which isn’t as hard as I thought. Actually, I had another idea today that I think everyone can join in on."

"Who are you and what have you done with Grif?"

"Ha ha, very funny. Anyway, remember that old show, Wipeout?"

"The one we used to get on the TV when we made Donut balance on top of that weird tree to get a better signal back in Blood Gulch? Sort of…"

"Well, I was thinking that we could build our own wipeout course, and then make all the platoons compete or something."

"Okay. But what would we be training?"

"That’s the beauty of it Simmons, it doesn’t matter. We just have to make them do stuff and then laugh at them. It’s the perfect situation."

Simmons sighed, giving Grif a look that said, “Are you serious?”. At the same time, it’s not like they were committed to the war, just to getting everyone else back…

***

"Simmons, this is a thing of beauty. I knew I could count on you," Grif said.

Much like Grif’s previous game, which had been unceremoniously named worms or some shit, the course took advantage of the natural surroundings: a small creek acting as a waterslide, some floating logs to jump over, vines to climb up. All in all, Simmons was actually pretty proud of it. He’d been the one to come up with most of the design, with Tucker, who’d been right on board the with the idea, Caboose, and Grif helping out.

And if anyone asked, they were training dexterity and stuff. Grif had developed a knack for coming up with excuses.

"Hey, it looks like my team’s winning!" Tucker shouted, "Suck it, Reds!"

"Don’t count us out yet!" Grif replied, as his team came up to the start again.

"We’re back bitches!" shouted one of the rebels, before launching himself off the first jump into the water.

"Yeah…saw that one coming," Grif sighed.


	6. Chapter 6

Grif loved Rest Days.

As much as he enjoyed training days, because training days meant sitting back and watching his platoon do stupid shit, Rest days were the best because it meant he got to sit back and do nothing. And rest was important, because, war or not, if you just pushed yourself you’d wind up too exhausted to fight. At least that was his rational.

And so Grif sat in the shade, half dozing, half paying attention to his some of his platoon as they worked on a warthog.

"Simmons go away. I’m trying to sunbathe,"

"With armour on? Seriously Grif, there’s no time for that. We need to figure out this next training regiment. We were gonna do that join thing remember?"

"Oh yeah! I had some ideas for that. I was thinking…"

"…so I think I’m thinking we might need some headlight fluid…"

Any further attempts at a conversation were silent as Grif and Simmons looked over at the group.

"Did he just say what I think he just said?" Simmons asked, disbelief in his voice and the sense that he was holding back a laugh.

"Maybe…hey idiot! What did you just say?" Grif shouted.

"Who me? I said we might need headlight fluid for the warthog…"

"Oh my god he actually said it. He thinks it’s a real thing."

"We actually found someone dumber than Donut. I didn’t even tell him he needed it or anything."

***

The team of soldiers looked at their two superiors, who were doubled over in laughter, utterly confused, especially as Grif fell out of his chair.

"Did I miss something?"

"Don’t worry about it. Just go get the headlight fluid, and some elbow grease while you’re at it."


	7. Chapter 7

Grif looked down at the barrel, utterly confused.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked the soldier, who looked back at him with an equal amount of confusion.

"It’s headlight fluid," he replied, complete and utter confidence in his voice. Which was hard to take seriously because of his accent.

"Headlight fluid’s not a thing, kid. I put it on the list as a joke."

"But I’m serious. That’s Grade A Headlight Fluid that is!"

Grif leaned down to read the label. 100% Metric Headlight Fluid. This had to be a joke. He opened his mouth to argue when Felix walked by.

"Did you actually find headlight fluid? The mechanics have been needing this! Good work soldier."

The soldier looked slightly appeased by this development, offering Grif a smug look.

"Shut up. This has to be a —"

"Well done. Is there any more?" Kimball appeared behind Grif, looking rather impressed. The soldier nodded. 

"I found a whole stock of them. The others are bringing it now. Sorry, boss. but this kinda stalled the shopping list competition."

Grif was speechless. What the hell kind of planet was this? How the hell was headlight fluid a thing? It was like everything he’d ever known was suddenly called into question.

"I need to go lie down."


	8. Chapter 8

Dexter Grif was not a fighter.

He could talk the talk, whether it was his natural sarcasm when blowing off authority or Simmons, or attempted bravado in the face of adversity, but walking the walk was an entirely different set of skills that Grif had failed to master.

Largely because most of his military experience consisted of standing around and talking, with the occasional firefight. Also he had future cubes so really, he didn’t need to fight. It was more fun sending people to other dimensions. Maybe.

However, it was important for his platoon to learn hand to hand combat, and so Felix had decided to help out. Presumably for some of Grif’s paycheck.

"Right. so, once you have them in this position, it’s a great opportunity to punch them in the dick…"

Grif, who had been dozing off inside his helmet, perked up suddenly.

"No, we’re not doing that."

"What?" Felix tilted his head, confused.

"We’re not doing dick punches. That’s not gonna be thing on this platoon."

"What…why? It’s effective."

"No, it’s not. It’s not cool and underhanded. It’s not something anyone needs to learn."

Felix stared at Grif, trying to work out the logic, but the uncharacteristic edge in the orange soldier’s voice made him realize that Grif might actually be serious for once.

"Alright, we’ll try something else."

As Felix launched into the next instruction, one of the platoon members looked over at Grif.

"Wow, Boss. I had no idea you felt so strongly about dicks being punched."

"I don’t want to talk about it. Just get back to training."


	9. Chapter 9

"Hey, Grif, do you have any idea what’s up with Simmons lately?"

"What do you mean?" Grif asked, loading up his plate with food. The Rebel camp’s meals weren’t the best, but they were a step up from MREs. For the time being anyway, so Grif figured he should stock up while he could.

"He’s just been acting…weird. Like a lot of awkward laughs and he’s been pushing his squad really hard. They run more laps than my squad. Also there’s that whole thing with Red Team—"

"Please stop. I don’t need to be reminded about Simmons’s lack of imagination when it comes to names," Grif replied. "And yeah. It’s the power going to his head. It’s…normal when Sarge isn’t around."

"This has happened before? I don’t remember this, and I’ve spent more time around you guys than I care to admit."

"It was back in Blood Gulch, around when my sister showed up and you were having your kid and we were back to doing things at the opposite ends of the canyon."

"Oh…yeah, guess I wouldn’t have remembered it then. Was it the same sort of thing?"

"Shouting at us and making us run laps? Yeah, pretty much. I think he’s trying to be subtle about it, but yeah. It’s not working for him."

There was a pause.

"Ah man, does this mean that—"

"We didn’t run any laps. Stop thinking about it. Now."

"Okay, okay, fine," Tucker sighed. It was honestly amazing how expressive their helmets were.

"I’ll take care of Simmons, Tucker. It’ll be fine."

Grif picked up his tray and headed towards the table where the rest of his platoon was sitting, and leaning over an old Risk board to discuss the strategy of relieving Red Team: The Next Generation, of their flag.

One of the platoon members fell into step beside Grif.

"Sir, I couldn’t help overhear your conversation with Sargent Tucker, and is it true that he had a kid?"

"Yup."

"But how?"

"Alien. I don’t know the details. Just one day there was a baby alien in the canyon. Don’t think about it too hard."

The soldier nodded.

"You’ve seen a lot of weird shit, huh, Boss?"

"More than you know, Kid. More than you know."


	10. Chapter 10

It began, as so many things did, with a flag.

"Simmons, what the fuck is that?"

"Oh hey Grif. I figured since your team had that tower of pimps thing I figured that my team could do something similar," Simmons replied, looking proudly at a piece of red cloth that had been attached to a rusted pole and stuck in the ground, leaning precariously to one side. Grif was about to comment on it’s appearance, and then he remembered the tower of pimps.

"So you stole my idea."

"I wouldn’t say steal. More like borrowed. I mean, it’s just like the flag we used to have back at Red Base."

"Yeah, right down to the colour. Simmons, you know that we are Red Team, right? Sarge wouldn’t want use forgetting that, or replacing him.” Grif considered the fact that he had managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice for about ninety percent of that sentence a personal achievement.

"I’m not replacing him, I’m expanding Red team! It’s Red Team: The Next Generation!" Simmons replied with a nervous laugh.

"I feel like we could get in trouble for the title," Grif replied, and was about to say something more when Simmons’s platoon jogged by.

"Just a few more laps guys!" Simmons called out.

"You have them running laps?"

"Yeah. We’re supposed to be training them, Grif. Runnings laps is good for cardio, and we have to be ready for everything. I have the whole day scheduled out."

"Uh, yeah, right."

***

"Alright guys, new mission, and unlike the others, this one is serious."

"Didn’t the other missions have to deal with our survival and shit?"

"This is more than mission about our survival. It’s about our sanity. What do you think is more important?"

"Besides, we don’t have to worry about food. There’s that cow in the hole out back."

"When did that get there?"

"For the last time I had nothing to do with it."

Grif paused for a moment considering, before shaking his head.

"Enough joking around guys, this is the real deal. This mission is of the utmost importance if we are going to survive this war and not destroy ourselves in the process. You know that red flag?"

"The one that belongs to Red Team: The Next Generation? What about it?"

"Okay first of all, don’t use that name again. Second, seriously, never use that name again, and third, we need to steal it and destroy it."

"Destroy it? Why would we do that?"

"Because, private, if we don’t, Simmons will destroy us all."


	11. Chapter 11

"Okay, so here’s how we’re gonna do it. We’re gonna challenge Simmons’s squad to a game of Capture the Flag, with our tower and their stupid flag up for grabs. Only, when we steal the flag, we’re gonna destroy it. Hopefully, that will weaken Simmons’s authority and get him to stop being a power hungry douchebag."

"And if it doesn’t?"

"It better. He tried to make me run laps when I accidentally ran into one of his squad. Also, what the fuck are girly laps?"

"I have no clue, he tried that once before. Didn’t work," Grif replied, having sudden flashbacks to the last time this happened. "Anyways, everyone clear on the plan?"

There was a round of nods.

"Seems pretty biased towards us though. That tower’s fucking heavy."  
"See, if this was a legit thing, then maybe I’d consider another flag, but it’s not. This is about cutting Simmons down to size. So we’re gonna use the tower."

There was another round of nods.

"How are we gonna destroy the flag?"

"I don’t know. Burn it, or let the cow eat, just something that gets rid of it. Just make sure he’s in the area when you do it. Idiots one and two, you guys are in charge of that."

"Got it, Boss."

"Good. Now. Who wants to take over the letter of challenge?"

—

Hey, asshole.

Heard you were trying to order my team around. Well I won’t stand for it. My Hunters against your Dick Squad. Tomorrow, high noon, CTF.

Be there.

your friend, Dexter Grif.

Once he’d managed to work out what exactly the letter said, Grif’s handwriting being about as understandable as chicken scratch on a bad day, Simmons crumpled the letter in his hand.

"So it’s come to this."

***

In the end, it was chaos.

Once Tucker had caught wind of a CTF game, he wanted his squad in and Caboose followed, not wanting to be left out.

It took some begging and pleading, but Kimball relented to letting them use the whole compound.

With four platoons involved, the logistics caused a slight delay, much to Grif’s chagrin. Simmons was getting worse, and the confusion over what exactly a girly lap was still remained.

—-

Grif’s Platoon, which he was calling the Hunters for no particular reason beyond needing a name, performed admirably, despite the efforts of some of his squad it seemed. He could have done without the screaming.

However, Simmons had been waiting for him. Grif knew he was going to have to do this alone.

"Join me, Grif. And together we can lead this rebel army, and claim complete and utter victory for the red team!"

"You are the biggest fucking nerd, you know that, right?"

"Sarge never told you what happened to your father…"

"I’m not doing this," Grif sighed, pushing past Simmons to grab the flag. Simmons grabbed onto it as well, and the two of them grappled like toddlers over a teddy bear.

"Grif, what are you doing?! This is my flag and my squad! I was born to lead them!"

"You are not the chosen one!" Grif shouted, wrenching the flag away from Simmons, and snapping it over his knee. "Sarge taught us better than that. Despite the fact that he’s a senile old man."

—-

In the end it was hard to tell who won.

There had been a lot of yelling and screaming, particularly from Caboose’s squad. Tucker’s platoon was like a well-oiled machine until they encountered the Tower of Pimps, and were really only successful in carting away one block with the help of some of Red Team: The Next Generation, before being picked off by the two guards left by Grif.

No one was really sure how Tucker’s barracks had been covered in toilet paper. Or how Caboose has somehow wound up with two pieces of the Tower of Pimps.

At least the “training exercise” part had been considered a success.

When Simmons didn’t show up for supper, Grif went looking for him. He’d intended to bring Simmons dinner, but everyone knew how that would end so he went emptyhanded. He found Simmons in his barracks, staring at the remains of the flag.

"It really was a piece of shit," Grif said, sitting across from him.

"Yeah, we all can’t have towers of gold," Simmons replied, bitterly.

"Hey, you’ve seen that thing up close. It’s also a piece of shit," Grif replied. Simmons paused, about to retort before nodding in agreement. It looked impressive, but once you got up close anyone could see it was shoddily painted wood.

"Look Simmons. I’m sorry I wrecked your stupid flag, but you were going into power-crazy-robot-overlord-simmons-mode, so I had to stop you somehow."

"I know. I just…I wanted them to like me. And to be a good leader, like you or Tucker. Or Caboose, somehow."

"I think they’re all just terrified of him. There’s a lot of rumours floating around."

"Still."

"And I’d hardly call myself a good leader. Those guys are fun to mess with, that’s all. So maybe try that, mess with your squad a little…" Grif paused, thinking for a moment. "Actually, wait. Don’t do that."

Simmons glared at Grif.

"Look, just get to know them a little. You’re a nerd so maybe try talking about nerd stuff."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Grif." It was sarcasm, but the kind of sarcasm that suggested that Simmons might take the advice. "I guess I did go a little crazy with power."

"You were bringing up girly laps."

"Okay, a lot crazy."

"What the fuck is a girly lap anyway?"

Simmons didn’t answer, but instead headed toward the door. “I’m going to the mess hall.”

Satisfied, Grif got up to join him. It was definitely time for thirds.

"Also Simmons?"

"Yeah?"

"I know I said this was like Star Wars, but if you ever make me act out Star Wars again, I’ll hurt you."


	12. Chapter 12

"Alright everyone! Listen up! I was in the mess hall yesterday, and I think the Quatermaster’s caught on to the fact that we’re the ones taking the bacon. And from what it sounds like, they’re locking the bacon up for safekeeping or something."

Grif stared around the room at his men, who stared back intently.

"Thankfully, Matthews also caught wind of this, and managed to "overhear" where it’s being kept. Now, I know how we all feel about the bacon burrito, so this is our chance to take it back."

Grif pulled down a map of the rebel camp, crudely drawn but it would work for their purposes.

"The bacon is being kept here. The plan, is to steal the bacon. We’ll be in teams of two. Matthews and I will do the main infiltration. The rest of you will be there for the handoff and general distraction. The more chaos the better, but don’t waste any ammo or anything like that. We want a clean getaway. We’ll meet at the top of the mountain for a cookoff. Any questions."

"Do we get disguises?"

"What about code names?"

"Yes to disguises. We don’t want anyone to know it’s us, and codenames are also a good thing. Matthews, you and I are Alpha Team, you two are Bravo, and you guys are Charlie. We clear?"

There was a round of nods.

"I’ll get the masks."

"Good. If everyone works together, we should be able to pull this off with no trouble at all."


	13. Chapter 13

"Captain Grif! Wait up! Please!" Bitters yelled, smashing his gun into an enemy’s face.

"No way! This is a combat situation, idiots! No time for faffing about!" Grif yelled from up ahead, where he was speeding through the enemies.

"C’mon Bitters, you heard the boss, let’s go!" Matthews yelled back, giving a spray of bullets before trying to press forward.

It was another one of Grif’s training scenario ideas. In this one, a small team had to fight their way to an evacuation point while being beset by masses of enemies. Simmons swore this sounded like something out of a video game, but Grif was quick to deny it.

"We’re almost to the chopper!" Grif shouted from somewhere up ahead.

"You’re almost too it!" Bitters snapped back.

"Hey! Remember, the most important thing is that I survive!" Grif yelled back, shoving his way past Caboose and his squad member, and clambering into the chopper, panting heavily.

After a few moments a bell sounded, signifying the end. Bitters and Matthews jogged up to the chopper.

"And that’s why you don’t faff about in a combat scenario," Grif said, breathlessly. "You have to keep moving. Otherwise you end up zombie chow."

"Those weren’t actually zombies though…"

"Enemies. Whatever. My point still stands."

"So that’s how it’s gonna end, isn’t it? We’re gonna be on the battle field, and you’re gonna take off without us?"

"Nope, because you assholes need to learn how to keep up with me. But if you don’t make it, I promise I’ll speak well at your funerals."


	14. Chapter 14

"Uh, Sir? What’s with the list?" Bitters asked as he and the rest of the platoon lined up in front of Grif after breakfast. The list had arrived as a message over their HUDs and had been the subject of great debate at breakfast.

"Those are your training of objectives," said Grif, "You’re too collect those materials this morning, and then bring them back here where we’ll start phase two of the operation."

"What are we going to do with it?"

"We’re going to build a weapon. The ultimate weapon. One that could very well turn the tide of this war. Boys, with the materials you collect today, we are going to build…" he paused dramatically and his squad leaned forward with anticipation. "A Human Slingshot."

There was a silence, the platoon stared at him expectantly.

"How’s that going to turn the tide of the war?" Bitters sighed. The other platoon members stared at him in shock.

"It’s obvious, Bitters! With the slightshot, we can get over the Feds! Get behind them and shit! They’ll never see us coming!"

"E-exactly! What he said, Bitters. Don’t question me! Now, get out there and find those materials. First one back…gets the Tower of Pimps for a week!"

The platoon scattered, except for Bitters who looked back at Grif and made a move to ask a question when Grif held up his hands dismissively. Bitters sighed and went to go join his team. As he was walking away he could hear Grif’s voice on the radio.

"And that’s a NO to any and all hypotheticals, James. This is a straight find the materials missions."


End file.
